


Turning Sanguinius

by BuddyWritesFic



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Kink, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyWritesFic/pseuds/BuddyWritesFic
Summary: Horus takes Terra. Then he and Fulgrim get busy trying to take Sanguinius as well.
Relationships: Fulgrim/Horus (WH40K), Fulgrim/Sanguinius (WH40k), Horus/Sanguinius (WH40K), Konrad Curze/Fulgrim (WH40K)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

He had been taken from his place among the other prisoners, cleaned, and healed. The cultists who bathed him had given him a white loin cloth. Although they had provided no other cover, the loin cloth in itself was an unexpected mercy.

They fit heavy golden chains across his arms and legs and left his wings unbound. The strength of gold was nothing to the strength of a primarch. Horus may as well have dressed him in tissue paper and told him to keep it from tearing. He held as still as he could while he waited, careful not to stretch the soft metal. The chains were tight enough that to stand without disturbing them, he was obliged to keep his hands close together and bow his head.

He heard the clank of the door behind him, heard the hateful familiar footstep. He kept his head down.

Horus put a heavy, ungloved hand on his naked shoulder. His breath stilled for a moment, but he didn't flinch.

"I've missed you, little brother." His voice was fond and soft. Sanguinius made no reply.

He felt Horus's breath on the feathers of his wings, and he wrapped them closer around him, hiding his gaze inside.

The hand reached up to play and tangle in his curls.

"You have fine sons," Horus said. "Gallant warriors. Like their father."

"Don't hurt them," Sanguinius begged in a hoarse whisper. "Please, don't hurt them."

"Sanguinius." Horus's tone was firm but kind. He reached past his tightly curled wings and lifted up his chin to meet his eyes. "Little brother, I don't mean to harm them. I am hardly in a position to throw away good astartes."

Tears leaked from the corners of Sanguinius's eyes. His breath came fast and shallow.

Horus continued. "Your Blood Angels nearly had my armies many times over. I'm not too proud to admit it. A few different rolls of the dice, and who can say but that we might be having a very different conversation right now, hm? I won't begrudge them a little difference of opinion. On the contrary, their loyalty to their former master does you credit. But now the matter's been settled, and it's time to regather our forces in defense of humanity. I ask your aid now, as I've asked it many times before."

He took Sanguinius in a close embrace and whispered in his ear. "Be a good boy for me, little brother?" he asked. "Bring your pretty angels to be once more my sword and shield, to crush the enemies of Man between their mighty jaws. Be once more my general. Kneel at my side, and be forgiven."

A long silence stretched between them. Sanguinius did not say no.


	2. Chapter 2

Fulgrim’s blood-covered body was pale and unmoving. Sanguinius’s hearts sank, and his mind raced. He couldn’t remember a thing. He looked around. They were in his cell. They were alone. Was someone coming? How much time did he have? And time to do what, exactly?

Then Fulgrim stretched and opened his eyes and looked at him with a sleepy smile and said, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

He jerked away, startled.

“Oh, it’s all right. Shh, it’s okay,” Fulgrim sat up and reached out a tender, clawed hand to touch his arm. He looked around at the bloody mess. “Did you think you’d killed me?”

He didn’t feel there was a good answer to that, so he said nothing.

Fulgrim shook his head. “Baby, no. At the risk of sounding indelicate, I can lose a great deal of fluids and still wake up in the morning. More now than before. I won’t go so far as to say you _couldn’t_ kill me, but you would at least need to be trying. You won’t kill me by accident just because you’re hungry. All right?”

Sanguinius cringed in shame. He had always hated discussing his appetites.

“Do you remember last night?” Fulgrim asked.

He shook his head.

Fulgrim pulled him into his lap. His arms, patchy with vivid purple scales, were unnaturally strong. “I came down here to feed you. I wanted to talk, and I know you think better on a full stomach. Then I fell asleep. That’s all.” He started combing his delicate claws through Sanguinius’s hair, untangling the curls. “That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually. Things are different now. You’re allowed to want things, to enjoy things. You’re allowed to enjoy blood.”

Sanguinius curled in and wrapped his wings around himself. “I want Father.”

Fulgrim gave a long, sibilant sigh. “Well, you’re allowed to want him, too. He isn’t coming back, but you can want him as much as you like. I wonder, do you really, though?”

Tears spilled from Sanguinius’s eyes. He hid his face in his hands.

“Baby, were you _happy_ when Father was here? Did you _like_ being ignored? Did you like fearing for your sons’ lives?”

“I was made for him,” Sanguinius said. “I was his. I was not meant to live without him.”

“I know. I know, honey, and it’s so hard. But you are alive. You’re still here, still the warrior and general and father you were before. And big brother Horus is here, ready to take care of you as he always has, because he loves you. And I love you.” He kissed Sanguinius on the temple. It was the closest thing to his face that wasn’t covered by his hands. “Humanity is still here. The galaxy is still here. The Gods are still here, as they always have been. Strength and wisdom and endurance and joy still exist. It’s hard to accept, but Father was not wise in his decision to oppose them.” His serpentine tongue curled around Sanguinius’s ear. “What sane man could oppose joy? And, wise or not, sane or mad, he’s gone now. And you can feel sad and angry, but you don’t need to withdraw from the course of history. We have work to do for humanity. That hasn’t changed. We want your help.” He licked dried blood from Sanguinius’s skin. “Poor darling. What are we going to do with you?”

“I know!” He conjured bondage from the warp. That was apparently one of the gifts his patron had bestowed upon him, and he used it often and with enthusiasm. Chains of sparkling pink energy pulled Sanguinius’s limbs straight and bound them to his body. His struggles against them were useless. “I have a meeting with Horus and Magnus today. You’re going to sit in.” He kissed his helpless brother’s furrowed brow. “You don’t need to worry about whether you can countenance our continued existence, because you can’t do anything about it right now. But you can talk. We’d like to talk.” He stood up and pulled Sanguinius from the cell, his sorcery dragging him along, hovering about a foot off the ground. “This is going to be fun! Magnus has missed you, you know.”

“You’re crazy,” Sanguinius said. “You’re all crazy. And you’re turning into a snake.”

“Well, you’re acting like a chicken,” Fulgrim said, and he stuck out his long, thin tongue.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you think, darling?”

The question came from Fulgrim, of course. It had been Fulgrim’s idea to take him from his cell and bring him bound hand, foot, and wing to some of the traitors’ less sensitive meetings to ‘socialize’ him. Fulgrim wanted to hear his thoughts on global defense. Sanguinius was certain no one else did.

“I...” He looked around the table his at his brothers, all of them mad, most of them showing signs of daemonic transformation. What could he even say? “I think you should renounce the dark gods. That’s what I’m always going to think. I don’t have other opinions on what you’re doing, because serving the dark gods is such a big problem that you can’t fix anything else until you fix that.”

Horus suppressed a smile. Magnus rolled his eye.

“Well, we aren’t going to take your suggestion,” Fulgrim said gently, “but we’re glad you’re here to give it, all the same.”

“Why did you leave me alive?” Sanguinius asked. “There’s no place for me in this world. I can’t help you.” He’d gone into the fight with Horus confident of his death. He’d fought in defense of their Father, fallen to Horus’s attack, and been sickened and horrified to wake up afterwards. The moral authority who guided his life was gone. He had no idea how to do the right thing anymore, or what the right thing even was. He felt guilty for continuing to exist in a world where he didn’t know how to be good. “Do you just want an audience? Is that why I’m here?”

“You’re here because you’re our brother,” Fulgrim said, and he started petting him again. “We love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d let me die.” Tears ran from his eyes and choked his voice.

Fulgrim drew him close, rubbing his back to console him. “Poor thing. It’s hard, isn’t it? Here.” He cut his neck with a knife of ivory and guided Sanguinius’s lips to the wound. “This will help.”

Sanguinius feared he was losing his mind. Fulgrim’s magic held him immobile, a helpless witness to the destruction of everything their Father had worked to build. The shame was too great to be borne. And he was hungry, and the blood was fresh and enticing and warm, and his mouth was the only part of him that was free.

He may have wished to resist him, but he could not. He drank deeply of his brother. Terror made him savage.

“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?” Fulgrim purred under the onslaught of Sanguinius’s fangs. He slipped his hand into his robes to stimulate himself.

Night Haunter, seated at his other hand, bit him plaintively on the arm.

Fulgrim looked down fondly at him. “Are you hungry too?” He tilted his head to offer the other side of his neck, and Konrad needed no further encouragement. He pierced Fulgrim’s milky white skin and drew gasps and pleased sighs from his throat.

“Do you have to do that now?” Magnus asked. “Here?”

Fulgrim was lost in a haze of bliss and heeded him little. “They’re going to fuss if I don’t feed them,” he said. “This is the nature of desire.”

“They wouldn’t be fussing if you hadn’t shown them blood.”

Fulgrim nodded. “This also is the nature of desire.”

“You heard him,” Horus said. “Can’t argue with Slaanesh about the nature of desire. I call a thirty minute recess. I assume that will be sufficient?”

Fulgrim made no reply to him, too absorbed in getting drunk.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was setting on the fortress-cities of storied Eurasia, staining the sky violent red. Fulgrim had come to the most secure vault of the palace dungeons, Konrad in tow, to put Sanguinius to bed for the night. A gesture of his clawed hand, and the sorcerous chains shifted, forcing the prisoner into a new position. Fulgrim arranged him comfortably on his front, knees tucked underneath him and arms hugging a pillow, wings wrapped around his body for sleep, his head resting in the perfumed silk of Fulgrim’s lap. Another gesture, and a little burning globe appeared, filling the room with the smoke of drowsy herbs.

“Today was difficult, wasn’t it?” Fulgrim spoke softly. He braided Sanguinius’s hair for the night to protect his curls. “It’s hard to talk about running the Imperium without Father. It’s frightening to see the galaxy without him. But you did so well, and I’m so proud of you. I know Magnus was happy to see you again.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Sanguinius muttered. “He yelled at me for staining his books.” He burned with shame that he had made a beast of himself in front of witnesses, and with rage that Fulgrim had made him fall. And then shame that he was making excuses for his own weak character. He wished he could hork up Fulgrim’s blood from his guts and cleanse his body of its taint.

“That’s how Magnus says he missed you. He just speaks with an accent.” Fulgrim tied off the last braid.

“We should kill him,” came a harsh voice from the shadows. Konrad’s hands flexed, his claws aching to rend flesh. “If you let him live, he’ll kill us all. I’ve seen it.”

“You _should_ kill me,” Sanguinius agreed. “I will absolutely kill you all. I’m thinking about it right now.”

“See? He admits it,” Konrad said. “I’m not jealous.”

Fulgrim stood and tucked a pillow under Sanguinius’s head to replace the cushion of his legs. He stepped through Konrad’s guard and stroked his chin with a violet scaled finger. “I know you aren’t jealous, sweet child. Although I’d be flattered if you were.” These last words were a whisper pressed against his brother’s lips. Konrad bit him, drew blood, and he shivered in joy. “Mm. Very flattered.” He grabbed a handful of Konrad’s scraggly hair and forced him to his knees. “You’re a good boy for protecting me. I’ll reward you once brother’s tucked in.”

Konrad fought against him. Fulgrim conjured more chains from the Warp -- heavy, leaden things that tightened when he struggled and bent him low beneath their weight. Konrad relaxed, pacified by the cruel chains.

“I know it is wise to fear you,” Fulgrim said. “You may harm me, and fear would save me from death at your hand.” He draped a blanket over Sanguinius and tucked it close around his curled form. “But fear will not save me from starvation. Only hunger can do that. Do you understand?”

Sanguinius wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I am initiate to the wisdom of hunger. Attraction. It turns me toward good things and bids me feed my heart upon them. It tells me with dread portent that I will love you or starve, and I dare not disobey.”

“If you love me, grant mercy,” Sanguinius asked. “Grant a brother his request, and kill me.”

He shook his head. “There is no mercy for you. Hunger cares no more for your suffering than for the threat you pose to my life. You are loved here. You are needed. You will live.” He kissed the back of his head. “Rest now, brother. Pleasant dreams.”

He tugged on Konrad’s chain and dragged him from the cell, locking the door behind them. Sanguinius lay in a panic of misery, loathing himself for being so weak as to be tempted by the honeyed words of a madman.


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s hard for me, too.” Fulgrim sat embroidering in a chair facing his brother in his cell in the Palace dungeon.

Sanguinius was perched on his cot, hugging his knees and holding his wings tight around himself. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said.

“I loved Father. You know I did. And you know I _wanted_ his love so much. So very much...” His voice trailed off as the air around him thrummed with the glow of sorcery. He shook his head, and it dispersed. “And I have to accept that I will never get it. That’s hard. It’s sad. I wish things could have been different, but here we are.”

“Father loved me,” Sanguinius insisted.

“Did he? Because to me, it looked like he was ready to kill you and erase you from history the moment you let a crack show in your perfect facade. He was ready to do that to any of us, just like he did to… to…” He hissed savagely and threw his work to the ground. “I don’t remember their names! I don’t remember if I loved them. He took that from me. He would have taken you from me if you’d been a hairsbreadth worse at lying. That isn’t love!”

Sanguinius choked on a sob. “I was unworthy.”

“No, you weren’t! You’re great! You weren’t the problem!” He stood from his seat and began to pace. “You were never the problem, because there’s nothing _wrong_ with you. You just disagree with people sometimes, and you like blood. In a normal family, you can disagree with people and like blood! That was Father’s failing, not yours!” He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “I know you drink blood. And I know you’re angry with me for treason and patricide. And I want you here with me, all the same.”

His voice softened. “Father is gone, and he isn’t coming back. But there are other people in the galaxy than Father. You have brothers and sons who love you. You don’t need to hide from us.” He gathered Sanguinius into his arms, and he took the kindness like he’d taken the blood that morning: thirsty and desperate for something to sustain him, thoughtless of his shame.


	6. Chapter 6

Fulgrim stroked First Captain Raldoron’s back as he carried him through the halls of the palace. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’re almost there. Your daddy will be glad to see you. He’s missed you terribly.”

“We miss him too,” said Raldoron. He didn’t know why the increasingly snake-like traitor Primarch insisted on carrying him. He didn’t especially like it, but if he got to see his gene-sire, he’d put up with it. None of the Blood Angels had been allowed to see him in the weeks since the fall of Terra. They only had Horus’s word that he still lived. He found himself clinging tighter to his heretical uncle.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Rouged lips pressed to his forehead; a long, forked tongue touched his hair. “You’re good boys to be so patient.” They came to a great, gilded door set in the marble wall. Fulgrim knocked. “Honey? Someone wants to see you.” He opened it without waiting for an answer.

In an instant, Raldoron was caught up in strong, familiar arms and wrapped in familiar fluffy wings. “My Lord!” He reached up to embrace his Primarch’s neck. _His_ Primarch, who looked right and smelled right and knew how to hold him, his Primarch was with him again.

Tears dripped on his head. “You’re alive,” Sanguinius said.

“Of course he is,” Fulgrim replied. “I told you he was all right.”

“You tell me a lot of things,” Sanguinius said. “I’d go mad if I believed them all. Are you safe? Have they hurt you?”

“I… I’m well, my Lord.” He was conscious that Fulgrim was still in the room. “I’m unharmed. They don’t keep us all together. They don’t say how many remain. I’ve seen forty-six of my brothers with my own eyes. I’ve heard rumors of others. I wish I could give a better report.”

“There are more than forty-seven of you, child, don’t fret,” Fulgrim said. “My brother has always been enviably fertile. It would take more than a few bad days to deplete the ranks of the Ninth. We’re just keeping you in small groups for now so you don’t get too rowdy.”

Sanguinius pressed his face to Raldoron’s hair and took a deep breath. “It’s all right. They don’t give me numbers either. But they told me you were alive, and I’m glad you are.” He sat down on the bed and cradled him close to his chest. Raldoron snuggled into the angel’s breast and listened to the thump of his giant hearts and the deep, soft whisper of his breath.

He looked around the room. It was much like the rooms he and his brothers were kept in, although the fixtures and furniture were larger to accommodate a Primarch. It was clean. The air smelled of fragrant resins, and the walls were hung with pretty tapestries. A window looked out on a secure courtyard where flowers bloomed in artificial daylight. It seemed that at least the darker rumors were untrue, and Sanguinius wasn’t really kept in the dungeons. Then the Primarch kissed him – his crown, his temple, his lips – and he gave no more thought to the room.

Fulgrim sat down beside them on the bed. “You missed your baby, didn’t you?” he asked as he rubbed Sanguinius’s back.

“More than anything,” Sanguinius said. “Thank you.” He held Raldoron tighter, as though afraid he might be taken away again.

Fulgrim kissed him. “It was Horus’s idea. When I told him how good you’ve been, he said you deserve a reward. And so does this little Angel.” He tickled Raldoron under his chin. “He took such good care of his brothers while Daddy was getting better. Now we just have to play nice and show Uncle Horus that you’re ready to see the rest of your babies, and you can all be together again.”

Raldoron closed his eyes. It was hard to resist the sweet promises, especially now that he was in his father’s arms again.


	7. Chapter 7

Pain. All throughout his body. Deep, screaming, echoing pain. Sanguinius woke up in a fluffy cloud of endorphins that blocked out the voices and visions he usually met on waking. It was peaceful in his cloud. He savored it.

He wasn’t sure where he was. He didn’t remember where he’d fallen asleep. He noticed that he was trying to remember, and he dismissed the thought immediately. He focused on the sharp, bright glow of agony and willed himself to forget he’d ever asked.

There, that was better. He’d been thinking about… pain? That sounded right. Someone or some blessed thing had gouged out swaths of his backside and strained the joints of his arms and wings to breaking. The pain rose up like the swell of a great wave and overcame him. He felt dizzy. Like the ground was gone, and the air was gone, and his wings pressed against formless vacuum, and he fell. The void was cold around him. He started to shiver. This happened sometimes when he was injured. He’d gotten used to it. Actually, as the Heresy had pressed on, he’d come to rely on the occasional vacation in shock to break up the dread-filled monotony of his conscious life. 

He smelled blood. Rich, living Primarch’s blood. And cum. And… pussy? Had there been a woman? He didn’t remember that. The pussy faded as the blood flowed and pulsed anew, perfuming the air. Something good was in his in his mouth, and he drank. The shaking quieted. His wounds began to knit as his body fed on the vital fluid. He opened his eyes.

Horus smiled down at him. He was holding him close, nestled between his slab-like arm and his chest, feeding him from a chalice. “Feel better?” he asked. “You had me worried there.”

“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to worry anyone. He felt worse about it because his brother was being so kind. “I’m all right. Just cold.” He hoped he hadn’t done anything especially foolhardy to cause concern, but he couldn’t remember. Who had they even been fighting? Heretics?

Memories filtered in through the fog and slowly fit themselves into place. No, they wouldn’t have fought Heretics, because Horus _was_ a Heretic. And the war was over. Father was dead. Horus had won. And more than that – “Wait, you don’t get to worry about me. You tortured me in the first place!”

Horus reluctantly let him out of his arms. “I can do both.”

He was naked. Horus was in a dressing gown. They were in a bed chamber furnished with colorful silks. To the left, there was a washroom with a marble basin in the floor and water sprayers above it. Sanguinius stepped into the basin and turned the sprayers on, splashing water on himself to loosen the clotted blood. He hated sticky feathers.

“Great,” he muttered. “You can do both. Is that my purpose in life now? To be tortured and worried about over and over until you get tired of it?”

Horus sauntered over to help him groom, hands deft on the injured wings. “Who says I’ll get tired?” He nuzzled his shoulder, and Sanguinius fluffed his wings aggressively with a spray of bloody water. Horus thought better of his gown and let it fall to the floor.

“You don’t have to ask me what your purpose is,” he said. “That’s the point. That’s why we fought a civil war. You can tell me. What _is_ your purpose? What do you want to do?”

Sanguinius sighed, his shoulders slumping, tired and sick. “I really should kill you,” he said. “Father would expect me to kill you. At the very least, I should try.”

“You don’t have to,” Horus said. “I won’t tell.” He stepped into the basin with him to get a better angle for washing him.

“I’m glad it’s so amusing to you, but that’s not the solution you seem to think it is. He won’t stay dead forever. You must know that.”

Horus shrugged. “He’s dead now,” he said, “which is further than anyone got before. I consider it a work in progress.”

“Is that how you’re supposed to talk about patricide?”

Horus laughed. “I don’t know. If there are etiquette guides, I’ll admit I haven’t read them. How do you want me to talk about it?”

“Like you’re sad, maybe? Like you feel bad about it?”

“I don’t.”

“I know.”

They worked on his wings in silence, picking rusty red blood from his feathers and the wounds on his back.

Horus spoke. “Well, leaving aside my monstrous filial impiety – ”

“I don’t think we can leave that aside.”

“ – leaving it aside for the moment, if you didn’t feel an obligation to kill me, what would you want to do then?”

Sanguinius closed his eyes. The question was absurd. What could be done in a situation like this? So many people depended on him, and he was helpless. “I’d want to go to Baal,” he said. “If it still stands, as you told me. When he comes back, he’s going to go there. They’re not safe. They’re not ready. If I had any input on the direction of my life, I’d go home and protect my people from the mess you’ve made of the galaxy.”

“All right, so go to Baal.”

“What?” He bristled at the mockery.

“Go to Baal,” Horus repeated. “Take Magnus. Make a resurrection preparedness plan. That sounds like a good idea, and I encourage it.”

He wrapped his dirty wings around himself. “It isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Why would you let me do that?” he asked.

“Because Baal is important to you, and you’re important to me.” He smiled with teeth now. “And I’m the Emperor of Mankind. I can do what I like.”


	8. Chapter 8

His chest was ripped open, his heart pierced by lightning claws. And his boy, his darling favorite met his eyes with seething hatred. Had he built him to be capable of such hatred, such disloyalty? Surely someone must have tampered with his work. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood dribbled out. The puncture wounds had stolen his breath. His heart sank as the future was snatched away, dripping off the end of Horus’s talons.

And Magnus was there?

“Hi.” His (other) traitor son gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re having a rough time, huh? That’s okay. This happens sometimes. You’re going to be all right.”

He walked around the room, looking it over. He looked spliced into the scene somehow. Brighter. As though he were lit by different light than the rest of the room, or held by different gravity.

He turned to face him again. “Do you know where you are?”

He opened his mouth, and this time, words tumbled out with the blood. “I’m on the _Vengeful Spirit._ ”

Magnus nodded and frowned thoughtfully. “That’s where the Emperor is,” he said. “Do you know where Sanguinius is?”

He looked over at the floor. “There.” Sanguinius lay crumpled unconscious with his throat crushed. His failed protector.

“Let’s try this,” Magnus said. “Can you feel your hands?”

His body was failing, but the nerves hadn’t gone yet. He looked down at his hands in front of him. They looked false. Immaterial, like colored light on a screen. “I’m… not sure.”

“Can you feel your wings?” Magnus asked.

“I don’t have – ” No, he did have wings. The dissonance made him dizzy. He splayed his fingers out, trying to connect what he saw to the sensations of his body. It felt like falling. He scrabbled for purchase, and his fingers found something soft.

“Ow. Hey – !”

He felt Magnus take him by the wrist and firmly remove his hands from his face. The room snapped into focus around him. Ruined frescoes. Chipped gold. They were on the _Red Tear_. He felt cold like death. His feathers stood on end, and he shivered violently.

“Easy. Take it easy.” Magnus grew larger and pulled Sanguinius into his arms. He dragged him over to a couch and gathered him up in his lap. He felt warm. So very warm.

“Are you with me?” Magnus moved a finger across Sanguinius’s field of view, and he tracked it with his eyes. “There you are. Hi. Welcome back.” Magnus rubbed his arms, calling warming blood back to the skin. “You’re going to feel gross for a minute. That’s normal. I’ll get us some tea.” He tapped a message to his equerry on his dataslate, _tap-tap-tap_ , red fingers moving quick across black glass.

As Sanguinius fell back into his own mind, shame rose up to threaten him. Magnus _saw_ , it said. Magnus _knew_.

“I know this is probably hard for you,” Magnus said. “But it’s not the end of the world, being a psyker.”

He supposed it would be rude to disagree.


	9. Chapter 9

Marble arches stretched across the desert sky, supporting no cathedral but the endless blue. A profusion of flowers and fruit trees grew in the network of oases that wound through the dusty sand. Bright, playful birds sang and danced through the air, their chirping mixed with the occasional human voice in low conversation or fond laughter. One never heard the humans in detail. They were always at a distance.

Under the great arches, smaller structures dotted the gardens: monuments and golden statues, painted walls rising up from the date palms, a memory of the late Imperial style. The Emperor’s likeness was repeated many times, here with martial and stalwart countenance, there tender and paternal.

Magnus was sure he’d seen darker expressions as well on the statues and paintings, from the corner of his eye. When he turned to see them straight on, they smiled with all the virtues a skilled artist could impute to them.

They’d been walking a long time. They’d flown for a little while, but the sky revealed no more variation than the ground, so they were back to walking.

“Do you think we’re getting closer?” Sanguinius asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Magnus said. “It’s hard for _me_ to say,” he corrected himself. “It’s your mind. Do you feel like we’re getting closer?”

“I...” Sanguinius’s smile faltered. “...I’m sorry. I forgot what we were looking for.”

Magnus looked around at the sprawling gardens. “It might be a door,” he said, not for the first time, “or a box. It could be a musical instrument, or even a paintbrush or chisel. For some people, it wears the same appearance every time, and for some, it changes. It’s… a sense of potential. Freedom. Power. Whatever that looks like to you, that’s the form your psychic ability will take.”

“Or I might not be psychic,” Sanguinius suggested, not for the first time either.

“All right.” He sat on a quilt that had been left by the oasis. A group of swallows brought him honeyed pomegranates and tea. He trailed his finger in the water. “Well, whatever non-psychic ability lets you walk the minds of dead men, that’s the form it will take.”

Sanguinius sat down beside him and began to preen Magnus’s feathers. He was silent for a time, and when he spoke, he spoke only softly. “What if I don’t want it?”

“Then it might be something dangerous, like a cup of poison, or a wild beast.”

A family of jerboas hopped up to the water’s edge and took dainty little bites of leaves that grew there.

Magnus sighed. “Or it might be hidden in an endless labyrinth. It could always be that.”

A jungle cat padded out of the trees and climbed into his arms. He rubbed its head. “It’s all right,” he said to the cat and to the landscape in general. “I’m not angry. I’m sure your reasons for becoming an endless labyrinth were very compelling.”

The cat closed its eyes and purred.


	10. Chapter 10

They met on the _Vengeful Spirit_ , again. It was cleaned up since last time.

The door of the _Stormbird_ opened. Sanguinius looked tired. His feathers were patchy, and he smelled of cold sweat. He walked down the gangplank until he stood a couple feet off the deck so his head was level with Horus. Then he grabbed him by the shoulders and bit his neck.

“Ah!”

“You don’t get to complain,” Sanguinius said between gulps of blood. It spilled over Horus, down his body, puddling on the floor. “I am stretched to my limit with the groxshit you put into the galaxy, and if I’m going to see you, I need a stars-damned drink.”

“I’m not complaining,” Horus said. The sudden attack had surprised him, but he didn’t begrudge his brother a few drops of his substance.

“Well, good, because I don’t want to hear it.” Sanguinius took a deep, long draught. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see you. I wanted to check in. How fares the defense effort?”

“ _Weird_ ,” Sanguinius snapped. “Is that what you want to hear? It fares weird. Magnus has me in nerd therapy. It’s awful for everyone, it’s very heretical, and I’m probably falling to Tzeentch.”

“Why are you in nerd therapy?” Horus asked.

“Because I have nerd problems! I have visions of the patricide _you_ committed, and Magnus thinks this will help me… I don’t know! Something! Something psychic I can’t understand!”

“I didn’t know you were psychic.”

“I’m not! I just have visions! Why does no one get that?”

“All right, it’s all right.” Horus rubbed his back. His body was tense and shaking. “Then I didn’t know you had visions.”

There was a choked, quiet sound. Tears fell on his shoulder and mingled with the blood.

“I hate it,” Sanguinius said. “I didn’t want to see that _once_. Now I see it five times a day. It’s getting worse.”

Horus clicked his tongue and smoothed down his brother’s feathers. “You’re fixating. Let’s give you something else to think about. How about some tanna and a bath?” He held a hand over his bleeding neck. He wanted a bath as well.

Sanguinius nodded. He followed him out of the landing bay quietly.


	11. Chapter 11

They met on the _Red Tear_ this time, high in orbit around Terra. Sanguinius embraced him as he stepped down from the _Stormbird_.

“My brother!” Horus held him tight. He stepped back to get a look at him. Sanguinius seemed stronger than he had at their last meeting. His skin had some color to it, and his over-plucked feathers had grown back.

“How fares...” he began to ask, but the sentence trailed off. How fares _what?_

He searched his mind, but it was fruitless. He had forgotten the planet’s name. He frowned. 

“It’s on the tip of your tongue, right? And now it’s gone. Shelve the name for now, do you know _where_ it is? What sector?”

His frown deepened. Of course he knew. He had to. “You’re from…” As he thought, the memory of remembering slipped away. What was it they were talking about? Was he answering a question? “I’m sorry,” he said, “did you ask me something?”

“I asked about my world,” Sanguinius prompted.

He’d _been_ to this place, wherever it was. He was sure he had. He’d spoken about it at length with his brother and his nephews many times. But all he had were vague impressions, whispers and spiderwebs. “It’s dry,” he said eventually. “You take sand baths when there isn’t water.”

Sanguinius waved a hand. “Well, I’ll give you that. Still, not bad, right? There are billions of dry, sandy planets. It could be anywhere. Anything else? Population, Compliance date, economy and principal exports?”

Horus shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Sanguinius grinned, baring his fangs. “No one does.”

“Is this Magnus’s work?” Horus asked.

He shook his head. “No, it’s mine. Turns out I’m great at it. Magnus says it’s ‘extroverted repression.’”

His hearts grew bitter. “So that’s what you do now? Extroverted repression?”

Two years past, he’d killed a man who stole his memories, who stole his brothers out of history. He’d thought that time was over. “Are you going to erase yourself, too?”

The angel’s liveliness left him. His voice softened. “I could,” he said. “I thought about it. If I have to someday, then I will. But right now, I don’t want to. Look, I came here to see you. I had a successful mission. I secured an objective. My home world is safe. -er. Than it was before. And that’s something. I want to celebrate, with –”

If he said ‘Warmaster,’ Horus was going to scream.

“– my Emperor.”

Horus stood stunned for a moment. Then he laughed. “You don’t make things easy,” he said. “You know that?” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “All right, let’s celebrate. I’m guessing you don’t want a parade?”

“This might not be a ‘parade’ kind of victory,” Sanguinius agreed. “No one would know why they were there.” He reached out a hand. The movement was hesitant, wary. “Have a drink with me, instead?” 

Horus took his brother’s hand and kissed it. He guided it to rest on his arm. “I’d love to. Give me wine I won’t remember from somewhere I’ve never heard of. Let’s toast to whoever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hear it for the vague blur.


End file.
